HOW I MEASURE MY TIME
by HurryUpSlowly
Summary: She wakes up, her feet warm in the ray of sunshine coming in through the open drapes, her hip hot under the weight of his hand. B/B all the way, I promise. Loosely inspired by spoilers for late season 4. Now COMPLETE.
1. All Tangled Up

**Author's Note: **_This story is very loosely inspired by some rumors about the last few episodes of season 4. Please don't read if you want to remain spoiler-free. This is planned as my first multi-chapter, I hope. Oh, and the title comes from a line in a Jorge Luis Borges poem: "Being with or without you is how I measure my time." _

**Disclaimer: **_Not mine. But I just love playing with them._

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**1. All Tangled Up**

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She wakes up, her feet warm in the ray of sunshine coming in through the open drapes, her hip hot under the weight of his hand.

Eyes screwed shut, she waits for the panic to set in. She counts to one hundred in her head. Then she counts his even breaths, feels his chest rising and falling. She reaches one hundred again. The panic does not materialise.

She opens her eyes. She studies her sleeping partner, his face relaxed, a faint smile on his lips. He looks young and she has a sudden glimpse of what he might have looked like as a boy.

Without opening his eyes, he pulls her closer. She moves one hand around his back, the other settling on his chest. He looks at her and smiles.

"Good morning."

She feels a little guilty and a little shy, as if she's just been caught doing something forbidden. She smiles.

"Good morning."

He pulls the sheet over their heads, a warm cocoon of sunshine and body heat. His right hand traces the line of her spine, settles at the small of her back. His left caresses her cheekbone, the line of her jaw. He thinks that he doesn't wish or need to be anywhere else.

He's almost fallen asleep again when she speaks.

"Booth..."

"Yeah," he replies, his voice still a little rough with sleep.

"Do you want to have a baby with me?"

He answers before the daylight can reach him, before the world outside can come crashing on their shoulders. Before he remembers all about who they are and what they do and what they can or cannot say. This is their time, their first time together. It is a time for a simple question with a simple answer.

"I do."

He wonders for a moment why the words sound solemn, as if he's saying them in front of an altar in some ancient ceremony, the two of them the only participants. Then, his head between her neck and shoulder, his arms around her, he settles back to sleep.

* * *

**Why did Booth say yes? Why did she ask him in the first place? How is she going to react? And how is he going to react? Who's going to freak out first? How did they get here? Where are they going from here? Come on, we all know there's no easy journey for these two. **

**...and last but not least, do you think I should continue with this? I'd love to, and I think you'd like where this goes, but please tell me what you think!**

**Please review and let me know!**


	2. The Rites of Spring

_**Author's Note:**_ _Here we go. From the very beginning. Please bear with me – it's not going to be a very long ride, but I'd really like to tell this story properly._

_**Setting:**__ The spring and summer of season 4._

_**Disclaimer:**__ The usual. Definitely not mine._

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**2. The Rites of Spring**

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**_Several weeks earlier_**

April is the cruellest month, she thinks as she walks towards the Jeffersonian one Sunday morning. This year the colors around her appear to be brighter, more vibrant. She finds it disconcerting.

If Angela were to paint her life as it is now, which colors would she choose? Neither greys, nor a black and white contrast, she hopes. Perhaps muted blues and greens. A dash of terracotta here and there, reflecting the earth that she so often examines with a scientist's practised eye.

Throughout her adult life, she's seen herself as someone better suited for serenity rather than happiness, and this is what she wishes for herself. Her life is wider now, and she can breathe more freely. Her partnership with Booth is, as always, spectacularly effective. Her new book is due to be published soon, hopefully to the usual acclaim. She's firmly established as one of the world-leading experts in forensic anthropology. She hasn't left the Zack debacle behind – and, if she's honest with herself, she will probably never leave it behind. Instead, she has assimilated it, for lack of a better word, much as she's done with her newly acquired relationship with her father and brother.

She has little difficulty in persuading herself that some chemical imbalance is responsible for her faint sense of disquiet.

April – mixing memory and desire. Stirring dull roots with spring rain.

* * *

Later that day, she acts on her vaguely formed plan.

"Ange, do you think we have similar tastes in men?"

She watches somewhat fascinated as the artist tries very hard not to choke on the fry she's eating. Her eyes water and she coughs a few times before getting her breath back.

"Well, sweetie, I sure hope not. I mean, things are weird as it is with me and Hodgins, and I don't know about you and Booth, but I don't think you want me in _that_ story."

Brennan sighs and looks down, playing absently with her napkin.

"That's not what I meant. I just wanted to ask you if you think that any of your friends would be a suitable date for me."

Best friend that she is, Angela goes straight to the heart of the matter.

"How long since you've had sex, sweetie?"

"I… I don't remember."

She does, but she is a little too uncomfortable to go into details. The artist's perceptiveness can be intimidating under the best of circumstances.

To her credit, Angela knows when to let go.

"That long, huh? OK, let's see", the artist muses. "Do you have a type?"

"I don't know what that means."

"Of course you do. Tell me if this rings a bell: tall, intelligent, successful..."

Also dark, handsome, and FBI, she adds to herself, but knows better than to say it.

"Leave it with me, sweetie. You'll be the lucky recipient of the patented, tried-and-true Montenegro treatment. You're gonna _love_ it."

Brennan can only hope that her friend's obvious enthusiasm will not lead her to make some outrageous choice.

* * *

Several days later, Brennan meets her date at the Italian restaurant that has been so praised by food critics recently. She's wearing a new dress, a long, black, shimmering number that emphasizes her cleavage and moulds around her like a glove. She knows she looks sexy and confident, and this is exactly how she feels.

He looks very appealing – athletic and light-haired, that Nordic blonde that goes beautifully with tanned skin. He's rather tall as well, and impeccably dressed. She sits down anticipating a very pleasant evening. Clearly, Angela has made a good choice.

She allows her body to take over, as she has done many times before. She finds it very relaxing to shut down the scientist once in a while and rely on the woman instead. She smiles and whispers seductively, fully aware of the fact that the man opposite picks up on every cue.

The appetiser and half the first course proceed very smoothly. The wine is good, the company intriguing.

The first alarm bell starts ringing when she finds herself considering whether the man she's just met would make a good father_, _and then linking the probability of a second date to the existence of said paternal traits.

The alarm bell becomes a full-blown siren when she discovers she's been musing about what their children would look like. Surely, her genes for dark hair would override those for blonde hair. She's less certain about the eyes, though.

The siren morphs into a whole disaster area rescue operation, complete with fire trucks, ambulances and police cars, when she tries to calculate when exactly she will be at the most fertile in her monthly cycle.

With a stern reminder to her body to behave, her rational self returns to the driving seat. Until the end of the dinner. Then, she flees the scene of the crime as if the hounds of hell are following hot on her heels.

She decides that the spring is to blame. She is not sure what that means.

* * *

_Apparently, it is an established theme in fanfiction that, whenever Brennan's on a date, she cannot help comparing the man in front of her with Booth. I didn't spell it out, because Brennan has bigger fish to fry, but who am I to deviate from conventional wisdom? Please consider it part of the story, if you so wish. And by the way, don't worry - our favorite FBI man will make an appearance in the next chapter._

_The references about the month of April are from TS Eliot's _The Waste Land_ – from the first section entitled, rather appropriately, _The Burial of the Dead_. I thought it suits Brennan well._

_Please keep the reviews coming – they're absolutely invaluable, as well as much treasured._


	3. Love and Other Demons

_**Author's Note: **__So many thanks for the positive reviews for the story so far! You've definitely made my day - again and again. So here's some food for thought for you: it is practically a law in the Bones universe that fluff is directly proportional to the angst that precedes it. Let's see if you agree. :)_

_**Setting:**__ The spring and summer of late season 4._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Wish they were mine._

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**3. Love and Other Demons**

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"Ange, why do women want to have children?"

Brennan is somewhat surprised to find herself asking her friend for an opinion – what could Angela tell her that has not been covered in a variety of anthropological studies that she is already familiar with?

Angela does not seem taken aback, though, as if it were an obvious question for Brennan to ask.

"Well, I don't know about _all_ women, but... bottom line? If they're really really lucky, they meet the man that they want to have children with."

"And you think that's gender-specific?"

"No, it applies to men as well. Not all men and women though - not everyone wants children, after all."

Brennan considers, biting her lower lip.

"Assuming that a person belongs to the category of people who do want children, how do they know if they met the man or woman they want to have children with?"

"They just... _know_."

Brennan scoffs. "How can you _just_ _know_?"

"You do. It's simple, Bren, trust me. Haven't you ever looked at something or maybe someone and realised that you just knew?"

"Well, I knew that I wanted to study anthropology as soon as I came across my first book on the subject. Is it like that?"

The artist sighs.

"Yes, sweetie, just like that."

Brennan is about to leave Angela's office when she is stopped by the artist's hand on her lab coat.

"Listen, what's going on? Are you thinking about having children? This would be a good time for you, Bren. You'd make a _great_ mother."

The artist's full-wattage grin is far from matched by the expression on Brennan's face.

"Parent-child relationships are predicated on hierarchy, discipline and control. I'm not comfortable with that."

Her friend's next question echoes faintly in the distance as Brennan turns and strides towards her office.

"Hey, how did the date go?"

* * *

A couple of days later, Brennan is relieved to come to the conclusion that she does not appear to have turned into a different person after all. She does not start to notice cute little children in the street. She does not pay attention to young families in the park. She does not look at her belongings with an eye to identifying those that are potentially dangerous for children.

She picks a huge, no-holds-barred fight with her partner instead.

She knows that the adrenaline still coursing through her body is at least partly responsible for her anger, but for once she doesn't care about biology, chemistry or even anthropology.

"You left me behind, Booth!"

"There was no time, Bones," he replies, his voice tired, his arm curled protectively around his ribs.

She has arrived just in time to see Booth emerge from the warehouse, hurt but still standing on wobbly legs. The FBI emergency team swarms around them. A couple of ambulances flash blue. Somebody is shouting something indistinct to the SWAT team. She does not take any of it in.

She is so angry she can barely breathe.

"We're partners!"

"I called you, didn't I? I told you where I was going. He was about to take off, so I had to go in."

"I can't even begin to describe how monumentally stupid that is! You _don't_ go in without back-up! _You_ taught me that!"

His temper flares up as well.

"I called the intervention team, I knew they'd arrive!"

"_I'm_ your partner, Booth! _I'm_ your back-up! You don't go in without me!"

"Bones..."

"Do you really think I don't know what this is all about? You thought it would be easier if you didn't have to protect me in there. Since when do I belong to the category 'helpless women and children', Booth? What makes you think you get to use your protective alpha male instincts around me? What makes you think that you can decide what I should or shouldn't do?"

She is shouting now, her hair snaking around her head like a fury.

If he weren't so bruised and sore, he would stop and think. He does not.

"You know what, Bones? For once in your life, could you just pretend that you're somebody else and give me a smile instead of the third degree? Maybe even a hug? You're the genius scientist - would it be that difficult to do something as simple as that?"

His words knock the anger and the breath out of her. She looks at her shoes for a moment, absently registering the reddish tint of the earth. _It must be clay._ _Hodgins would probably know._

She takes his arm and guides him gently towards the nearest ambulance. She does not say a word all the way to the hospital.

It is strange that one thought only ricochets relentlessly around her brain until she finally falls asleep that night.

_I didn't want you to get hurt._

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**No worries, we'll get to the fluff. You have to give me credit for the oh-so-sweet ending, though. **

**Reviews provide better life support than food and water. :)**


	4. I'm So Glad You Found Me

_**Author's Note: **__Thanks for reading and for the amazing reviews and for the story alerts! So... I guess I'll just take a deep breath and continue – no pressure to meet expectations, right? :)_

_**Setting:**__ The spring and summer of late season 4._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Not mine. But this is how I'd like them to be._

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**4. I'm So Glad You Found Me**

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"No hope, no harm" sits at the very top of Temperance Brennan's personal code of conduct. She is proud of how effective this principle has proved to be, on more than one occasion. She also likes it that it can be expressed almost mathematically: disappointment tends towards zero when there are no expectations in the first place.

The flip side of the coin is that the converse is also true. The higher the expectations, the more bitter the disappointment. And Brennan has very high expectations of herself.

She just hates psychology. Particularly when it reflects negatively on her behavior.

Entropy pulls everything apart at the subatomic level. Even if it sits rather uneasily with her innate desire for order, she has to accept that chaos underpins the universe.

But she forgot to take into account how hard it is to actually watch the world tip upside down.

Time to restore the balance.

_Think in the morning. Act in the noon. Eat in the evening. Sleep in the night._

* * *

"Angela says that you're protective of me because you didn't have anyone to protect you, and you don't want that for me."

He is sitting in that damn chair in his office, raising his head from the paperwork at the sound of her voice. She is standing in the doorway, watching him with that blunt earnestness that so often disarms him.

"Angela's a little too insightful for her own good", he mutters.

He is silent for a moment, then he looks up at her.

"Is this your way of apologizing, Bones?"

"I… I guess so."

He watches her for another beat.

"OK."

A moment later, she realizes that the anticipated relief has failed to materialize. The universe remains stubbornly skewed. Perhaps it is the fact that she can't see even the hint of a smile on his face?

"What are you doing over there? Come on in – we need to go over the case, see if we missed anything."

He half turns in his chair and stretches his hand towards the mountain of paperwork behind, wincing slightly as the movement pulls at his sore ribs.

She experiences a surge of protectiveness so strong that she feels dizzy for a second. She lowers herself in a chair, her hands instinctively gripping the armrests, anchoring herself.

"Do you want some coffee? You look tired." Booth's voice pulls her out of her reverie.

"...yes, thanks."

She gives in when he returns. One step is all it takes, and she is wrapping her arms around his waist. He recovers quickly, setting the cup blindly on the desk, pulling her in a close hug.

So this is how everything falls into place, she thinks.

They hold each other amidst paperwork, photographs, the smell of coffee and each other's warmth.

"Booth?" she asks, her voice muffled.

"Yeah."

"How long did it take me last time?"

He can feel her words vibrate in his chest.

"Mhm...?"

"You know, when you came back. How long did it take me to... smile or apologize?"

_Forty-three days._

"Sssh, don't worry about that now", he says, holding her a little tighter.

Perhaps there is something to be said for atonement or redemption, after all. What an incongruous idea, she thinks.

* * *

_So that's why she was so upset (I swear, it was as much a surprise for me as it was for you). But anyhow, nothing as sweet as making up. Right? :)_

"_No hope, no harm" is a line from a song by the Smiths, Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me – check it out on youtube (I have to warn you, though, it has one of the longest intros in history). And _'_Think in the morning. Act in the noon. Eat in the evening. Sleep in the night.'__ is from William Blake – who else? A fitting homage (I hope) to our favorite shrink, Gordon Gordon._

_Reviews are all that I need. Seriously._


	5. Crazy Love

_**Author's Note: **__Aaargh, the site's acting up again and I haven't been able to post this chapter until now. Sorry about that._

_Once again, lots of thanks to everyone who read, reviewed and alerted this story! Here's a little present for you: about time to find out how Booth is doing, don't you think?_

_Edit: Many thanks to Gryphin for the suggestion for the chapter title. The song is Crazy Love by Aaron Neville. I thought it fits the POV beautifully. Just check it out and let me know.  
_

_**Setting: **__The spring and summer of season 4._

_**Disclaimer:**__ They don't have to be mine for me to just love them._

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**5. Crazy Love**

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On the forty-third day, Bones had smiled at him. Nothing short of a miracle, if you asked him.

Faced with her all-consuming anger and with her insistence that she'd been perfectly able to compartmentalize, thank you very much, he had to summon all his self-control to keep himself from giving in to the nearly overwhelming instinct to run. To go anywhere, really, as long as he didn't have to deal with angry partners, incomprehensible squints, cannibalistic serial killers, lost kids turned into criminals, stalkers shooting at him or any of the other crazy things that had come crashing in on him within the space of a few weeks. Anywhere he could huddle in a corner and lick his wounds for a while.

He stayed instead. Because long ago, probably around the same time that he'd stopped wondering why God had chosen to inflict Temperance Brennan on him (pretty soon after he'd met her, if he was honest), he'd come to realize that she was the woman of his life - nothing like he would have imagined, yet somehow all that he ever wanted.

So he made a deal with himself. He'd stay until he saw her smile at him again, until she was no longer angry and disappointed and confused and sad. Maybe he could leave then, knowing that she was okay.

It turned out that he had to wait for forty-three long days stretching one after another. When she smiled at him again – really smiled at him – he'd felt a twinge of pain from the wound in his chest. He'd forgotten how addictive her smile was. So he promised himself to stay just a little bit more, until the next smile. Before he knew it, he was locked in once again. He stopped pretending that he wanted to leave. He stayed.

Yes, the smile felt like a miracle. But the hug... the hug feels so much better.

He takes a deep breath and feels something inside him release, then settle.

He waits until she pulls out – she's almost always the one to withdraw first – then puts his hands on her shoulders lightly.

"Listen, Bones, what are you doing tonight?"

"Why?" she replies a little warily.

"I got this thing to do and I thought you could come with me. Kind of sensitive – we suspect that this guy's been dealing to assorted movers and shakers, and y'know how it is – antsy politicians and other kinds of crap. So I gotta keep an eye on him. He works as a barman, so I gotta spend an evening figuring out what he's up to."

"I don't know..."

"Come on, Bones – classy bar, nice company, helping the FBI... You gotta live a little. Look, I'll even buy you one of those fruity drinks with a little umbrella in them," he says with his best charm smile.

"...okay."

Would it be too much to say that he lives for those smiles?

"No drinks with little umbrellas, though."

"Whatever you want, Bones, whatever you want."

* * *

The bar is nice. Better than nice. The company is great. Better than great. All is fine with the world. Yep - Seeley Booth is a happy man.

They are sitting at a table placed discreetly to the side, close to the bar but not close enough to draw attention. His arm is draped loosely around the back of her chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. The band is playing a jazzy song that she seems to like.

"What about those men?"

"Don't point, Bones, we kind of want to keep things under wraps. Where?"

They're playing this game where they're trying to imagine the stories of the people around them. Bones is smiling, all curiosity and flushed cheeks.

"Over there, next to the woman in the short red dress."

"Oh, that's the definition of yuppie. Or whatever they're called these days."

"I don't know what that means."

"You know, the basic demographic for the DC professional: young, career-oriented, successful."

"Like us."

"What? No, not like us!"

"Well, you just said 'young, career-oriented and successful'. That would certainly describe us."

"Look, it's a negative word. Plus, I don't get paid enough to be a yuppie. And you earn too much to fit the bill. And none of us is very materialistic anyway."

Wow, it's only around Bones that he's that coherent when a little drunk. She must have rubbed off on him.

They argue a little more, then she falls silent, a contemplative look on her face. He drinks some more beer and she drinks some more wine. They look hazily around, taking stock of their surroundings.

He feels a little hot and a little high and the band has just started playing one of his favorite songs and this woman is sitting so close to him and the next thing he does feels completely natural.

"Come on, Bones, dance with me."

He jumps up and grabs her hand, pulling her out of her chair.

"What about the... you know, the guy?" she protests.

Damn, it feels good to act on impulse around her for once.

"Never mind him. He's not going anywhere."

He wraps one arm around her waist, holding her hand with the other. They're so close he can feel her warmth coming off her in waves. Her scent, subtly changed by her heated skin. Yeah, he's totally lost. And it feels like no other high he's ever experienced.

He feels her start to relax against him, so he lets go of her hand and wraps his other arm around her. He half expects her to pull back. Instead, she just puts her head on his shoulder.

They sway gently with the music. He wishes that they could stay like that for a long time. She has the inexplicable thought that she doesn't want to let go.

* * *

_Whew, we're getting there. _

_Now – since people have very different tastes in music, I decided to refrain from mentioning anything about the song playing while they're dancing._

_So... you tell me. Please review and let me know whether you liked this chapter and what you think the song should be!_


	6. I Know Who I Am

_**Author's Note:**__ Thanks for reading and reviewing and alerting, people, you're great! This is my favorite chapter so far, I just loved writing it. _

_**Setting:**__ The spring and summer of season 4._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Not mine. Just stating the obvious here._

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**6. I Know Who I Am**

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_Maternal instinct returns with a vengeance a couple of days later._

It is a moment of acute – almost painful – clarity, such as she rarely experiences outside the lab. She does not know what caused it. Perhaps it is the clear spring day that provides her with a vantage point – if she were on a mountain, she would be able to see miles away. Perhaps it is that she is unusually aware of the people around her – she forgot her ipod at home before her morning jog in the park. Whatever it is, it makes everything feel infinitely closer and brighter.

She runs until her lungs can no longer keep up, until her legs threaten to cramp. Having thus forced her body back into obedience, her analytical spirit prompts an examination of possible solutions to the problem. On the one hand, dating is out of the question, at least for a while. On the other hand, she needs some sort of activity in order to release energy with maximum efficiency.

The solution presents itself naturally.

* * *

"Bones, what are you doing here? Everything okay?"

Taking absolutely no heed of Booth's somewhat sleepy protests ("Hey, it's 7 o'clock in the morning! On a Saturday! Saturday, Bones – day of rest, remember?" – "I thought that was Sunday."), she drags him out to her car, informing him that he can catch a couple of hours' sleep, because this is how long she approximates it would take them to get to their destination. They spend the allocated time drinking coffee and bickering over their preferred radio channels.

"I warned you to get some rest so that you'd be prepared for strenuous physical activity," she says when she sees the look on his face once they've arrived.

"You're kidding, right? It's a goddamn mountain!"

"I estimate that it will take us three to four hours to get to the top. Based on this amount of time, I would say that the word 'hill' fits the description much better."

"That's not the point! Come on, Bones, you can't spring this on a man with an empty stomach!"

"This trail should present no difficulty for a male of your age and stamina," she replies, handing him an energy bar.

Having successfully silenced her partner by appealing to his masculine prowess, she extracts a backpack from the trunk. After much going back and forth ("But it will be lighter on the way back, with all the food gone." – "Are you implying that I should carry less weight because I'm a woman?"), they reach a compromise: she will carry it on the way up and he will take it on the way down ("Fine!" – "Fine!") .

They chase each other uphill until they find a rhythm that suits both of them, discussing holidays (Brennan recounts her time in North Carolina with Russ, Booth a weekend trip with Parker), the benefits of yoga versus hockey (they eventually have to "agree to disagree", as Booth puts it), and – she does not remember exactly how they got there - the sacrificial rituals of ancient Aztecs ("Yuck", says Booth when she launches into some of the gorier details).

"Wow, this is amazing!" he exclaims when they finally reach the clearing on the top. He plops down on the ground, legs stretched out before him, and looks up at her smiling.

"Thanks, Bones, this was a great idea."

Wisely squashing an "I told you so", an unaccountably pleased Brennan sits down as well, digging out sandwiches and water. They eat in companionable silence, punctuated by questions from Booth about whether she's been here before (she has) and when (a really long time ago; she does not say "with my parents" and he does not press for details).

A little while later, uncharacteristic silence from Booth prompts her to look at him and discover that even alpha males can occasionally succumb to exhaustion. He appears to have fallen asleep.

Resisting the temptation to indulge in idle contemplation of her partner (after all, what if he wakes up and asks what she's doing, or worse, tells her to quit staring at him), she half-turns away from him, taking in the slope of valleys and the ridge of mountains in the distance, the blues and greens mixing with the warm color of the earth.

The feeling creeps upon her, invading every cell by stealth. Here she is, at the very center of her world, cradled by the smell of fresh grass and the open sky.

"Care to share?" her partner's voice asks softly.

She probes around the feeling slowly, cautiously, as if it is about to disintegrate. She smiles.

"I think... I think I'm happy."

There is a spring in his step all the way down.

* * *

_Hands up everyone who thought that the dance would be followed by our favorite couple sleeping together! Well, you know what they say about the course of true love – it never did run smooth. And when did Brennan do anything the easy way, anyway?_

_So... some more coming up on a channel near you pretty soon._

_Please let me know what you think!t I absolutely loved writing this chapter – and I'd love to hear from you._


	7. What Angela Saw

_**Author's Note: **__Thanks so much for the lovely thoughts! Here's a little surprise for you – probably now what you expected, but I thought I'd play around a bit._

_**Disclaimer:**__ I just love imagining them. But no, they're not mine. *sigh*_

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**7. What Angela Saw**

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Despite her not exactly uneventful life, Angela Montenegro would be hard-pressed to name a more awe-inspiring sight than the one unfolding before her eyes right now.

Is Bren... humming?

Watching her friend move with her usual precision around the table, Angela swiftly overcomes her initial response (_How come Brennan _knows_ a hummable song? Not that I didn't try to help_) and moves on to the more interesting issue: finding an explanation. Her vivid imagination instantly conjures a number of scenarios, ranging from her favorite but most improbable (involving her friend, a certain FBI agent and a variety of locations suitable for hot, uninhibited sex) to the least favorite but most probable (the arrival of some dusty old bones from a long-forgotten corner of the world).

_It's Monday_, her brain helpfully supplies. She sighs. If it were anyone else, she would bet on a weekend of happy togetherness involving two consenting adults and a boatload of pleasant activities. But this is Bren, so having spent Saturday and Sunday in eager anticipation of some weird specimen is equally likely.

Before she can reach a definitive conclusion, both her contemplation of alternatives and Brennan's humming are rudely interrupted by a loud clatter. Bending to retrieve the pen she has inadvertently dropped, Angela decides that this is an ideal test case for the world-famous Montenegro Technique of Unobtrusive Data Collection, leading to a suitable Action Plan.

* * *

She is presented with the opportunity to initiate Step One a few hours later, when Booth bursts into the quiet lab with his usual finesse, clapping his hands loudly.

"Come on, Bones, payback time!"

Angela's ears prick up. She is sitting in front of one of the giant computer monitors on the platform, with her back towards the two, but her artist's mind has no trouble filling in the visuals.

"What are you doing here, Booth?"

_Sweetie, try not to smile when you're doing the "I'm a busy, no-nonsense scientist" thing._

"Time you paid me back for this weekend", the FBI agent replies.

_Gleeful rubbing of hands accompanied by his best charm smile. No way Bren can resist. And what exactly _did_ they do this weekend?_

"I have a lot of work to do, Booth. I'd appreciate it if you got to the point."

"Hello, did you even hear me? This _is_ the point: you owe me!"

"I do _not_!"

"Hey, it's only fair! You dragged me out of bed and forced me to do what you wanted, so now it's my turn!"

_Is it really possible for my eyebrows to touch my hairline? I need a mirror._

"I don't see...", Brennan protests feebly.

"I'm reciprocating, Bones. Reciprocating, y'know? Partners do that sometimes. Trust me, you're gonna like this. Let's get going now."

_Bren – I want details, you hear me? I want _all_ the juicy details! As soon as you come back and not a moment later!_

A playful elbow nudge from Hodgins makes her lose her train of thought.

"Hey, Ange, you're doing that thing again!"

"What thing?"

"The thing that Brennan does with bones, except you do it with people."

Angela's knowing grin could power the whole city.

_Step one – find out who's making Brennan happy – has been completed._

* * *

To her own surprise, Angela's curiosity takes a back seat when a glowing Brennan returns that afternoon.

"You look happy", the artist says, suddenly unsure whether she wants this to be a preamble to cheerfully extracting information.

"I _am_ happy, Ange."

Something in her friend's expression – reserved, almost bashful – stops Angela in her tracks. Best-laid plans be damned. There will be no interrogations, no sneaky best-friend comments and no well-intentioned advice.

"I'm happy for you, sweetie. You deserve it."

Brennan smiles that secretive smile of hers and returns to work. Angela watches her for a second and then continues what she was doing.

* * *

On Friday, they are due to attend one of the numerous functions that the Jeffersonian's largesse seems to prescribe at regular intervals. Despite not being known for her punctuality at these events, Angela arrives early. She is therefore in a good position to observe Brennan and Booth come in together, deeply engaged in an animated discussion. She looks 1950s elegant in a dark-blue dress and high heels, her hair up in an elaborate style. He looks positively yummy in a tuxedo, his powerful body wonderfully emphasized by the sharp cut of his clothes.

"I love it when you two do the force field thing," Angela whispers to Brennan a while later, a suggestive smile on her face.

"It is scientifically impossible to generate a force field, although there have been some plasma experiments recently. And I don't see how this applies to me and Booth," the anthropologist replies.

"Come on, Bren, you know what I mean. The _thing_. You surround yourselves with a shield and everything else around you, people included, just bounces off. It's a superhero-y thing."

"I still don't know what that means. And people can't just bounce off."

Deciding that her friend is being deliberately obtuse, as she usually does when uncomfortable, Angela lets go.

The large room becomes increasingly warm, glasses clinking and voices getting louder as the evening unfolds. Several trips to the generously stocked bar later, Angela casts a glance around the room, trying to pinpoint where the two partners might be while making a little bet with herself that they will be no more than ten inches from each other.

She promptly experiences her second awe-inspiring moment in less than a week.

Brennan is standing near the open French window, making a valiant but unconvincing effort to appear interested in a conversation with some benefactors of the Jeffersonian. Booth is ten or twelve feet further away, clearly trying to fend off unwanted attention from a tall, professional-looking woman.

The two turn their heads towards each other simultaneously and without hesitation, as if they can already sense where the other is. They hold each other's gaze and smile, silent messages passing back and forth at the speed of light.

The sheer energy of the exchange is breathtaking, the charge almost visible in the thick air.

More than a little humbled, Angela turns her head away, the picture indelibly etched in her mind.

Then she grins broadly. She is _so_ going to draw this.

* * *

_Yeah, I know that 'hummable' is not a word, but please indulge me. In order to make up for this, I promise to use the word 'prophylactic' in one of the next chapters. Deal? Deal._

_In the meantime, please tell me whether you liked this. The review button... – well, you know the drill._


	8. Safe

_**Author's Note:**__ Believe me, I do feel a moral obligation to push the story along (after all, I'm going abroad in a couple of weeks until the end of April or so and I'd like to have this story finished by then). My fluff bunny – apparently I do have one – commanded that this be written instead. So I did. This being said, it's a piece of introspection (sort of) that should, at least in principle, clarify a few things. I hope you like it._

_**Setting:**__ The spring and summer of season 4._

_**Disclaimer:**__ No, not mine. But... nothing wrong with pretending, right?_

* * *

**8. Safe**

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* * *

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If she weren't Temperance Brennan (and no, she doesn't wish to be someone else), she would go out into the sunshine, her hair loose on her shoulders, carrying nothing but a paper bag. She would sit by the fountain and eat her lunch, surrounded by office workers and the hum of the busy city.

But she is, so she stays in her house of reason, immersed in work, the background noises of the lab and the artificial light her safe place.

When Booth bursts in with his usual nonchalance ("Payback time, Bones!") she surrenders reluctantly – more out of a sense of obligation towards her partner, she tells herself, than because she can find the time for idle pursuits. He takes her for a short drive ("Where are we going?" – "That's for me to know and for you to find out"), takes a bag out of the trunk and leads her into the park. He spreads a blanket on the grass with a wide grin and a flourish, pulling out a variety of containers from her favorite deli and some coffee ("It's a picnic, Bones, how long since you've been on one?").

She sits in the sunshine, her hair loose on her shoulders. She eats her lunch, laughing at Booth's stories and telling a few of her own.

* * *

If she weren't Temperance Brennan (and no, she doesn't wish to be someone else) she would go out with some friends – dinner and maybe a movie afterwards. Or a club filled with hundreds of bodies jumping up and down in time with the music.

But she is, so she stays at home, copies of forensic anthropology journals open in front of her, her laptop on the coffee table.

When Booth's impatient knock at her door pulls her out of a reverie concerning a recent discovery in the Madagascar, she sighs and lets him in. Characteristically impervious to the fact that she has something better to do with her time than attend the party at the Jeffersonian, he tells her that he needs her to come ("because that's what partners do, they look out for each other") and manages to persuade her ("against my better judgment", she points out). He leaves her to change and returns within the hour, wearing a tuxedo and a smile. She cannot help but smile back, engaging him in a debate about the social and anthropological significance of formal events until they arrive at the party. They make a perfunctory appearance, but even that seems too long ("Two hours, Booth!"- "Yeah, two hours that I'll never get back, either").

He takes her out to dinner to a nice restaurant afterwards ("because hey, we look way too good to go to the diner") and somehow manages to extract a promise that she will watch a movie with him sometime soon.

* * *

She is Temperance Brennan. He knows who she is.

* * *

_Thanks for all your lovely reviews so far! I hope I haven't lost you with this. Yes, I know this is short but it begged to be written. More to follow within the next couple of days._

_So... what do you think?_


	9. Who We Are

_**Author's Note: **__Here we go – *takes deep breath and crosses fingers*. I have to warn you, though – I am working my way up to an M-rated story, so, for the time being, I'd rather leave it all to your imagination. Plus, I have to admit that I am totally intimidated by the sheer awesomeness of the M-rated fiction on this site. I'll get over it - one day. :) In the meantime..._

_..this is for all of you, but especially for Marissa, who asked for an update this Monday. Happy Birthday! I hope you like it (and I hope it's still Monday where you are :))._

_**Setting:**__ The spring and summer of season four._

_**Disclaimer:**__ I just love imagining them, but no, they're not mine._

* * *

**9. Who We Are**

* * *

It is time.

She does not know how it happened, but here they are, spring crossing into summer, four years rolled into one week of nervous anticipation and delight. She does not know whether he can feel it, but she thinks he does, attuned as they both are to the shifting rhythms of their relationship.

* * *

Earlier in the week, they meet at the lab to go over some paperwork together. She does not know how to ask, so she inquires casually whether they've arrested the barman. She cannot tell whether he can read her, although she believes and hopes that he can. He explains that several of his colleagues have been taking turns going to the bar on different days so as not to attract attention, and he is due to go again on Friday. Then he asks her if she wants to join him. He does not say "this is what partners do" and she does not expect him to.

That evening, as they are sitting at a corner table in the bar, she feels as if they are exploring uncharted territory, the music and the people around them merely the conduit for something greater. "Here be dragons", she thinks briefly, but she is not scared. Instead, her newly-discovered sense of adventure is only mildly tempered – no, enhanced – by the secrecy of it all, by the guilty pleasure of doing something slightly forbidden.

Fully immersed in trying to identify the shape of things to come, she does not realize that she has been silent for quite a while.

"What's going on in that big brain of yours, Bones?" her partner's voice inquires softly.

"I like it here," she blurts out as soon as her innate honesty manages to overcome a sudden bout of self-consciousness.

"You do?" he smiles. She thinks he sounds happy.

"I do," she replies, her voice a little lower than she would have expected.

It occurs to her that he is also quieter than usual, and she wonders what he is thinking. She almost asks him, then she holds back for fear of making him uncomfortable. He cuts short what could become another uneasy pause by rising to his feet and pulling her to the dance floor.

She feels a little dizzy and a little high, alcohol and adrenaline mixed with a thin thread of anxiety. Booth's light chuckle ("Hey, what did I tell you about trying to lead?") pulls her out of the moment, and she relaxes against him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Later that night, she kisses him lightly on the cheek after saying good-night, turning quickly on her heels and missing the look on his face as she goes into her apartment.

* * *

They go out for a movie on Saturday ("Come on, Bones, your dusty volumes on anthropology are gonna be so much more interesting after a boring old movie" – "My books are not dusty, I keep them in perfect condition"). He buys them the largest soft drink and popcorn combo available, countering her comments about unhealthy foods with the mock-solemn assurance that he plans to eat it all by himself, thank you very much. Having effectively prompted her competitive self to prove him wrong, they munch happily throughout the movie, her occasional protests about the suspension of belief met by a raised eyebrow and a whisper that she should have left the scientist at home and brought the best-selling novelist with her instead.

The evening is warm when they come out, a balmy wind carrying the scent of the trees in bloom across the street. She laughs carefree when she stumbles slightly on the sidewalk, his hand immediately gripping her elbow lightly to keep her from falling. And in that instant – a split second's action following a split second's thought – she just knows.

It is time.

Tilting her head to kiss him, their bodies pressed closely together, she thinks that it is neither like flying nor like hurtling to the ground. Instead, it is an evolutionary instinct of such breathtaking validity that she can only surrender. She lets the instinct wash over her and they kiss again and again, laughing together when they run out of breath. They stand there for the longest and the shortest of times, the warm wind and his hands playing in her hair.

They somehow make their way towards her apartment, strewing clothes all over on their way to the bedroom. Their rhythm is that of breathless laughter, passionate and uninhibited, as they fit each other seamlessly and come together as one.

As she falls asleep afterwards, her last coherent thought is that this - the comfort of the familiar and the thrill of the unknown - is everything she ever wished for.

* * *

_Yep. This is where we are at the moment._

**For those of you who have been reading the story from the very beginning, I have re-edited it a little by taking out or inserting a couple of words here and there and by adding titles to each chapter. I hope it's better now – please let me know.**

_This was the most difficult chapter to write so far, so... to all my awesome reviewers and everyone else out there - please let me know what you think!_


	10. What was Once Only Imagin'd

_**Author's Note: **__Hugs and thanks to my awesome readers and reviewers! __Here's a little treat for you – we're coming back full circle. Erm - if I say once again that I've had some trouble with this chapter, will y'all kill me? :) I wrote a one-shot called _I Don't Know You_ a couple of days ago and it was so angsty it's taken me a little while to get back to da fluff._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Not mine._

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* * *

_

**What was Once Only Imagin'd**

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* * *

**

He wakes up, his feet warm in the sunshine coming in through the open drapes, her hip hot under his hand. He feels her shift, then settle. He pulls her closer. He waits.

Heartbeats later, she moves one hand around his back, settling the other one on his chest.

"Good morning," she says, her voice a little raspy with sleep.

"Good morning."

He pulls the sheet over their heads, a warm cocoon of sunshine and body heat. His right hand traces the line of her spine, stops at the small of her back. His left caresses her cheekbone, the line of her jaw. He thinks that he doesn't wish or need to be anywhere else.

He has almost fallen asleep again when she speaks.

"Booth..."

"Yeah."

"Do you want to have a baby with me?"

He answers before the daylight can reach him, before the world outside can come crashing on their shoulders. Before he remembers all about who they are and what they do and what they can or cannot say.

"I do."

He wonders for a moment why the words sound solemn, as if he's saying them in front of an altar in some ancient ceremony, the two of them the only participants. Then, his head between her neck and shoulder, his arms around her, he settles back to sleep. She moves a little, her head turned towards the window, but he does not let go.

Lying in her bed, he feels more immersed in her reality than ever before. This is the very center of her world - her castle, raised drawbridges securely closing them off from the outside world. As daylight starts to invade his consciousness, tentatively at first, then with increased persistence, he feels her leave cautiously, dragging the bedsheet with her.

Getting up with a sigh, he roots around for his clothes. He finds his boxers and jeans on the floor, but his t-shirt is nowhere to be seen. He gives up, drags his pants on and goes to the bathroom. When he comes out, somewhat refreshed if not entirely awake, he can see her still curled in the lounge chair on her balcony.

A little later, he goes out carrying the two cups of coffee and sits at the bottom of her chair, her knees rising instinctively to make space. She's almost completely wrapped in the sheet, toes peeking out from the bottom, hair tangled on her shoulders, skin glowing in the morning light.

"What are you doing out here?"

She looks down. Wriggles her toes. Sighs.

"...hiding," she says, the word a little blurry around the edges.

"You know, Bones, you could just tell me that you want some time for yourself or something", he says, the teasing words belying the tightness in his chest. He does not add that he wouldn't mind if she said so. He would.

"I... it didn't cross my mind."

"...okay."

She is still not looking at him, her eyes fixed intently on the coffee. They sit and drink their coffee, his hand barely touching her, fingers playing gently with the hair on her shoulder.

"Did you mean what you said?" she asks, fingers plucking at the edge of the sheet.

This is it, he thinks – their time, present and future neatly enclosed in six words.

"Yes, I did," he replies. "Did you?"

"Yes."

The why and the when appear insubstantial, unreal even, in the cool morning light. Questions and answers for another day, he thinks, as her shiver pulls him back into the moment.

"It's a chilly out here – come inside, Bones."

He gets up, waiting for her to follow. She falls back in the chair with a thud, the bedsheet wrapped awkwardly around her. She tries to free herself and get up without providing the neighbors with a full view of her naked body, but only manages to get trapped in a tangle of white sheet.

He stands there looking down at her, his arms folded and a grin spreading slowly on his face.

"Stop it, Booth!"

His smile widens.

"Hey, you can't blame me for liking what I'm seeing!"

She struggles again, her frustration increasing in direct proportion to his grin.

"Why did I have to buy such a big sheet? And why do you have to look so..."

"...sexy, right? Face it, Bones, you like what you're seeing."

"I was going to say... coordinated", she pants, frustrated, falling back into the chair after having inadvertently stepped on the sheet once again. He bends down, scoops her up in his arms and carries her inside. She squirms. He tightens his hold.

"Here's a question for the scientist, Bones. What's the best way to get warmed up?"

This time, she grins back at him.

"Body heat."

* * *

_You're going to have to bear with me to find out what Brennan thinks. :) And the pace of this chapter is intended to be slower than the rest – just in case you're wondering._

**Two or three more chapters to go, and yes, I'll be really sorry to see this story end, honestly. So I guess this is one of your last chances to tell me whether you liked this before it's over.:) **


	11. In the Dawn

**A/N:**_ Thanks for waiting – I am happy to report that I have now overcome the bout of angst that stood in the way of fluff. :) Thanks again to my readers and awesome reviewers! For those of you to whom I haven't managed to reply yet, I promise to catch up with tomorrow. I just wanted to get this out of the way first._

**Disclaimer:** _Not mine, rather obviously._

* * *

**11. In the Dawn**

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* * *

_

He goes to pick up Parker later that day ("Hey, do you want to come with us to the zoo?" – "I'd better not, I have to catch up on my book"). She does not say "we need to talk" and he does not say it either.

They go out for dinner on Sunday (and when did she ever sit by the phone willing it to ring?). They end up in bed again – at his place this time, his presence familiar and comforting and just a little on the good side of thrilling.

She finds it oddly soothing, this rhythm they develop within the next couple of weeks, alternating between work and being together with what looks suspiciously like practised ease.

They talk the Sunday after this, as they often seem to do: sitting opposite each other at the diner, switching between topics at the blink of an eye.

"Why did you ask me?" he says softly, and she knows him well enough to know that he has to ask her.

"...I don't know," she replies, and she really does not know. "Why did you say yes?"

"Because it's true," he smiles.

His answer feels... light to her, like a statement of fact. She accepts that.

"Do you think... do you think it's possible to become someone else? All of a sudden, overnight."

He considers, his thumb gliding gently over her knuckles. She likes it when they touch.

"You know, if you'd asked me this question a few years ago, when I'd just quit gambling, I'd probably have said yes. Quitting felt just like that, like becoming someone else."

"I didn't know you then."

"Oh, I'm happy you didn't, Bones, trust me. The point is, since you're asking me now, the answer is no. People do get... sidetracked from who they are sometimes, but with a bit of thinking and a bit of luck they come back to who they really are. I know I did."

"Hence, the logical conclusion would be that this is just a glitch, a... momentary aberration."

She does not know why, but she feels disappointed with the idea.

"It isn't for me, Bones, why would it be for you?" he says, watching her closely with the concentration that used to throw her off balance.

She nods, inexplicably reassured. Her deeply-ingrained scientist's mindset prompts her to search for an explanation though.

* * *

She does not talk to Angela or to anyone else. What they have – what they always had – is theirs and theirs alone.

"I still don't understand," she whispers a few days later, more to herself than to Booth.

They are lying in bed together, as they have done practically every night this week and the week before. He turns towards her in the dim light.

"What do you mean?" he asks, his fingers brushing her cheek lightly.

"If wanting to have a child is neither accidental nor a temporary lapse, then I have to assume that the wish to do so was there all along."

She pauses, pulling away a few inches.

"But I _know_ that it wasn't there, so..."

"So you're freaking out a little," he smiles.

"I _don't_ freak out!"

"Mhm," is his only reply.

"I don't! I am just... somewhat concerned."

He suppresses another smile and reaches out for her, pulling her closer.

"You know what, Bones? This is a good thing to freak out about."

"It is?"

"Of course it is. Look at our jobs, our lives, the things that we have to deal with. There are far worse things out there to be... concerned about. And we are, we are concerned about them, every single day. But this... this is a good thing."

He has, once again, spoken a truth, and she accepts that.

"You're right," she acknowledges.

This time he does laugh at her.

"Did you just admit that I'm right?"

"Don't let this get to your head, but yes, I did."

He wraps his arms around her, his voice muffled in her hair.

"Bones, you do realize that there is one thing that you're _not_ freaking out about."

"I have no idea what you mean," she replies, although she does have a glimpse of an idea. Just a glimpse.

"Us. You're not freaking out about _us_."

She does not want to say it out loud, he has a big enough ego as it is, but he is right again. She kisses him, wondering lazily whether that high she gets when she is with him will ever get old. Both experience (they have known each other for years, after all) and reason (it would be irrational to fear that it would) suggest that it will not.

They sleep.

* * *

_One more chapter to go. For those of you – including myself, to some extent – who think that this is wrapping up pretty swiftly, I'd like to point out that Brennan is a very fast thinker. I guess I see it as a fitting tribute to her to conclude quickly. And how many synonyms for "speedy" did I manage to fit into one short paragraph? :)_

_Thanks so much for reading and, as always, please review!_


	12. Mirror Images

_**Author's note: **__First of all, a million apologies to all those who've been waiting for the final chapter of this story. RL interfered with a vengeance just as I was about to finish it, and then my inspiration went as well (helped in no small measure by how this storyline played out on the show). __For those of you who wrote to me to ask me how the story's going, thanks so much for your patience._

_You may want to read the story again, just in case this final chapter takes you by surprise. Oh, and a brief warning – this may be a little unusual, but please bear with me. Science all the way, remember? Right? Well, you tell me. :)_

* * *

She is in her lab when she gets the missing pieces of the puzzle. The catalyst. The cornerstone that holds everything together. Or any other clichéd analogy that her writerly imagination can come up with.

She is not doing anything that she has not done before (a gazillion times before, Booth would say, and she would point out that 'gazillion' is not a word). She is examining a body while testing the intern of the week on prophylactic approaches to rheumatic fever and the effects of said fever on the joints. Something about the conversation rings in her head for the rest of the day, making her increasingly frustrated that can't pinpoint it with precision.

With the perfect timing of genuine friendship, Angela delivers the final – as it turns out, visual – element for breaking the tightly wound knot she's been contemplating all day in the knowledge that just taking a sword to it would probably be useless. It's a drawing of her and Booth at the Jeffersonian party several weeks before. Breath caught in her throat, Brennan looks at it for so long that the artist begins to think she's done something wrong. Just as Angela is about to start apologising, Brennan thanks her in a whisper and gives her a gentle hug, then disappears into her office.

* * *

Booth must have noticed she has been distracted all evening. Very little about her usually escapes him, and she surmises that today would be no exception.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks as she's sipping her wine.

Tonight, she's curled in a corner of the couch in his apartment. They've spent almost every night together since their world flipped crazily upside down only two weeks ago. He is next to her, long legs stretched out towards the coffee table.

"Causality is the cement of the universe."

"...right."

"It's also a habit of the mind. 'Cause' and 'effect' aren't intrinsic properties, they can't be determined _a priori_. The connection between them isn't there independently of the subject observing it. Instead, causality is part of how we experience the world. As a scientist, I should've remembered that."

Booth's raised eyebrows prompt her to go on.

"I thought that the cause was that I wanted a child, and the effect that I wanted you. I was wrong."

"...you were?"

He does not trust himself to say more.

"It's the other way around. You and I are the cause. Everything else.... everything else may or may not happen, but there's no way to know beforehand. All that I know is that we come first."

He looks at her, head tilted, a faint smile forming on his lips.

"You sure?"

"Yes. It fits. _We_ fit. We're the center, remember?"

He gets it. He always does.

"And the center will hold."

He scoops her up and spins her around until she's dizzy. Finally, he listens to her weak protests and sits down with her curled in his lap. He doesn't let go for a long time. Neither does she.

A gazillion kisses and a heated make-out session later, he grins at her.

"Pretty good explanation, Bones. Even for a philistine like me."

"You know that I learn from the best."

He stifles the mandatory cheesy comment and goes for the practical demonstration instead.

* * *

Biological urges, anthropological inevitabilities and scientific truths tossed aside, here they are, lying in bed, the faint light from the street filtering orange through the half-drawn drapes.

She's almost asleep when she hears him speak.

"Bones?'

"Yes", she mumbles a little indistinctly.

"Do you want to have a baby with me?"

"I do."

She wonders for a moment why the words sound solemn, as if she's saying them in front of an altar in some ancient ceremony, the two of them the only participants.

Her head between his neck and shoulder, his arms around her, they sleep.

* * *

_And here we come to the end of the journey (and to the lovers' meeting, as Angela or Shakespeare would put it). Before you start throwing things at me for leaving it somewhat open-ended – I think this is where they should be in order to start 'evolving' together. _

_For this fic, I set myself the challenge of delivering a believable 'B/B get together' story where Brennan decides to have a child without surrendering to the temptation to include any __any of the following: Brennan suddenly surrendering to her biological clock and deciding to use Booth instrumentally for that (because that's not what people who are in love do) – on this point, I should mention that I started to write with this idea in mind long before Critic aired; Brennan exploring the IVF treatment and sperm banks route (why would she do that, anyway?); any of the many ways in which Booth would say 'no' to her request (because it is much more interesting if he says yes – plus, let's face it, he does want to have a child with her if he's really honest); a much too interfering Angela (she can be such an irritating little shipper sometimes – I prefer to see her as a good friend); I won't bore you with the rest of the things that I tried to avoid._

_But the bottom line is that I really think that asking someone to have a child with you is a way of to saying 'I love you'. Even for Brennan, even if she doesn't know it at first._

_So... how did I do?_

_Please tell me by reviewing one last time. And thanks for reading!_


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